


special collections

by kittpurrson



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Library, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Desk Sex, Intercrural Sex, Library Sex, M/M, grad school, virgin Even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittpurrson/pseuds/kittpurrson
Summary: The one where Even is a) a virgin, b) a librarian, and c) hopelessly into Isak Valtersen.(Now with an added timestamp!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a happy birthday Isak fic, but I don't hate the timing. Happy birthday, boo.
> 
> I was asked to write this ages ago, but I've been sick, and have only today gotten round to finishing it... so, yes! Here! Have a few thousand words about Even the virgin librarian, because why the hell not.
> 
> I don't know very much about fucking in libraries, but I do know a bunch of Viking shit, so feel free to hit me up to talk about my pal Snorri if you want. You know where to [find](http://towonderland72.tumblr.com) [me.](http://twitter.com/kittpurrson/)

 

1.

 

The first time the boy comes into the library, it’s nearly closing time, so all Even does is sigh and push his glasses up his nose, barely looking up from the precious illustrated copy of the _Gesta Danorum_ in front of him. It wouldn’t be the first time that some first year has strolled into special collections by mistake during an all-nighter.

“Toilets are at the other end of the corridor,” he says softly, but the person makes no move to leave.

Even glances up to meet the eyes of the most attractive boy he’s ever seen.

“Aren’t you supposed to ask if you can help me?” The boy asks. He doesn’t even seem like he’s trying to be rude about it; if anything, he just looks a little bit frazzled.

And Even is good at his job. Mostly. But it doesn’t usually involve talking to gorgeous boys with golden curls spilling out from under their snapbacks.

“Sorry,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “Uh. You know you’re in special collections?”

He doesn’t mean to sound condescending, but the boy narrows his eyes anyway, and Even curses himself because that was _definitely_ not the right thing to say.

“I’m trying to track down a collection of political cartoons,” the boy says. “I sent you an email this morning. For Isak Valtersen?”

Oh, that.

Even blinks. He _had_ received that email, actually, but then he’d gotten so wrapped up in his thesis chapter on these 1905 illustrations that he’d completely blanked on getting the book out of its holding.

He stands up, pretending to check the shelf of recently-called items next to his heavy wooden desk.

Nothing there. As expected.

Shit.

“You can’t take special collections materials out of the library,” he says instead of admitting his mistake, clearing his throat as the boy directs a very unimpressed look his way.

Or—wait. 

The boy—Isak—looks him up and down, and Even feels his cheeks heat up at the appreciative glance Isak is giving him. He can’t say he gets that look too often; or not in special collections, anyway, where most of his life is spent behind this fancy desk in sub-optimal lighting. He kind of likes his little room, because there’s something poetic about the whole setup, the smell of old books and leather… but he’s not exactly meeting people left right and center.

As his friend Magnus puts it, “fucking hell, dude, you’re never gonna get laid if you spend your whole life writing about dead chicks.”

But Even is here to get his degree, not lose his virginity. If it wasn’t for Magnus, nobody would even know he still was one. But Mags has known him since middle school, since the awkward acne it took him years to grow out of, through the bullies and the braces and the neverending growth spurt and the teenage angsting about whether he liked boys or girls anyway and wasn’t there now double the potential for heartbreak.

He’s never been brave enough to put himself out there and see. He’s never met anyone who looks like this boy does, though.

“And?” Isak says, when Even is clearly too flustered to continue.

Because, yes, right. They were having an actual conversation

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” he says, trying his best to sound apologetic.

Isak sighs heavily, then shrugs his shoulders.

“And you couldn’t have said that to start with?” he says. He doesn’t actually sound annoyed, but Even blushes anyway.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning, then,” Isak says, and Even nods, not trusting himself to say more.

“See you later,” Isak says, in the cheesiest, worst English accent possible, and smiles. 

Even is so fucking screwed.

 

-

 

2.

 

The next morning, Even shows up at the library wearing his nicest pair of jeans, much to the amusement of his fellow librarians.

“You look _very_ nice, Even,” says Noora, one of his fellow PhD students.

Sana chimes in with a teasing grin of her own—which is totally unfair, considering Even got her this job in the first place. She’s a medical student, for crying out loud. She shouldn’t even know where this library _is_.

“Who are you trying to impress?” she asks, and Even ducks his head as he puts his denim jacket in his locker, sticking his trusty pen behind one ear.

When Isak finally shows up—and there’s no _finally_ about it, Even tells himself, the library has only been open for 87 minutes at this point—Even has just about forced himself to look at his introductory paragraph on depictions of Ladgertha as a shieldmaiden turned wife. It needs work, like all of his intro paragraphs do, but that’s nothing new. It’s only a first draft, after all. It doesn’t need to be perfect, it just needs to exist.

Sana keeps telling him he’s ridiculous for writing his first draft by hand, but there’s something really therapeutic about committing the notes to paper, and letting them coalesce into thoughts this way. There’s something more creative about getting his ideas out in hard form, not that he’d tell Sana that—the excuse he gives her is usually that he learns the material better this way, has a better grasp of his facts that’ll come in useful for his defence.

Truth is, he just likes being able to make a mess of his written pages, with heavy scratch-outs and marginalia, tinkering until he feels ready to start putting some of the ideas onto a white blank screen.

This paragraph proves just imperfect enough that when Isak pushes open the heavy door to the small special collections room, Even looks up with a start. There’s nobody else at the long wooden table in the room’s centre, the lamps all unlit, and Even’s had only his study playlist in the background for noise.

“The Book of the Danes” Isak reads out loud, and Even looks up to find him admiring the leather-bound copy, where the book is propped up on a reading stand

“Hi,” Even says, eyes wide, and Isak nods a couple of times. Even isn’t sure why. It’s like a cute tick, or something, but Even likes the surety of it.

He also likes that Isak isn’t wearing a snapback today. His hair is nice. Everything about him is nice.

Fuck.

“So, is that your thing?” Isak asks, gesturing at the book. “Danish stuff?”

Well, at least this is something Even can talk about without having to think very much. He nods, clearing his throat as he looks down at his notes.

“Viking stuff generally,” he says. “Uh, mostly how myth has been blurred with fact in the creation of the viking narrative, especially how they’re portrayed in art, film and fiction.”

He waits for the usual response—the response Magnus gave him, when he first explained it to him. _So you’re watching some movies and writing about what they got wrong?_

“That’s chill,” Isak says instead, and Even looks up. Isak’’s not exactly gushing, but there’s something interested in his expression that makes Even blush. “How did you get into that?”

It’s a long story, so Even goes with the cliff’s notes.

“Uh. When I was fourteen I got sort of... obsessed, I guess, with reading all of the Völsung Cycle. And, yeah. I’ve been interested ever since.”

Even’s not sure Isak knows what the Völsung Cycle is, but Isak raises his eyebrows anyway.

“Woah.”

Isak doesn’t laugh or call Even a nerd, which he’ll take as a win.

He’s from a small enough town that he was the natural target for bullies as a teenager—first for the hyperactivity, then the very awkward puberty, then the bipolar episode—and yeah, he can take being called all manner of things on the chin, now, but it’s still nice, surprising even, when people react to him with kindness. That’s what he likes best about the girls at the library, actually—and why Magnus is the only person from home he still has any contact with.

That fear of rejection is probably also why he’s never asked anyone on a date.

“Um, you want the cartoons?” Even asks, when Isak doesn’t say anything else, and tries not to react too much when Isak licks his lips, a brief flash of confusion crossing his face before he nods.

“Yeah, right,” he says, taking his backpack off his shoulder. “Do I need to wear those glove things, or anything?”

Even can’t help but imagine Isak snapping on the thin protective gloves, flexing his fingers as he holds a mottled page— _what the fuck, Even, why is that even hot?_

“Uh, no” he manages to answer. “If you sit down, I’ll bring it right over.”

“Cool,” Isak says, making himself at home at the long table like he’s settling in for the long haul. Even is so completely fucked. “You know there’s ink all over your ear, right?”

Even retreats into the holdings, his face burning with embarrassment.

 _Way to impress your fucking crush, nerd_.

 

-

 

3.

 

After that first day, when he stayed the whole day until closing, Even thought Isak would be done with his book.

But to Even’s surprise, Isak keeps coming by in the late afternoons. The book he’s working through isn’t all that big, so Even respects how methodically Isak must be working through it... but after the first couple of times, Isak starts working less and talking more. Once he’s gotten a rise out of Even once, he seems to delight in doing it again.

“Is this Gabrielle? Again?” He asks, as Even’s Spotify playlist chooses to betray his ultimate lack of cool.

“It’s a good song!” Even tries, but it sounds weak to his own ears.

He only stops feeling embarrassed when he sees Isak bopping his head in time with the chorus.

The second time Isak comes by, he only works for an hour in silence before he starts making fun of Even’s music choices—not even in a mean way, Even thinks, but in a kind of… flirty way? Like, Even is bad at telling what’s flirting and what isn’t. If he ever flirted, it would have to be in the most extra, obvious way possible, no room for misunderstandings…

Even’s too shy to be obvious right now. But he likes to imagine what he’d do, if he had the balls for it.

Anyway, maybe if there were other students coming to the special collections room, Isak’s whole thing would be an issue, but Isak suspiciously seems to be free at the one time all other humanities students seem to have classes. Even is All But Dissertation at this point, so he can’t relate, but he does find it strange that Isak is here so much. He’s not ABD yet—that much Even has pried out of him.

Even would be the first to admit he’s totally whipped, though. Not to the point where he’ll allow food in the library—because God forbid he break that one, sacred rule of librarianship, but enough that he lets Isak distract him far more than he otherwise would.

He answers all of Isak’s questions, from the most inane—

[ _“Where are you from?”_

_“A small town about an hour from Trondheim... moved there from Oslo when I was seven.”]_

—to the most scandalous

[“ _Wait, so you’ve never taken anyone into the stacks? *Done stuff* in there?”_

_“They’re not ‘stacks’, and some of those books are older than this university, Isak.”]_

Isak never asks Even if he’s single. Or if he’s ever been with anybody. Which—okay, is probably for the best. Isak just talks and talks and smiles that fucking smile, leaving Even hoping. 

What if? What if?

 

-

 

4.

 

There’s just one thing Even isn’t quite prepared for.

One Friday afternoon Isak comes into special collections smelling distinctly of marijuana, and Even can’t help but wrinkle his nose as Isak leans in closer than he usually would at the desk, pronounces the name of his book with extra enunciation. It shouldn’t be sexy, he tells his traitorous dick, but watching Isak’s tongue fumble around those syllables, seeing the flush high on his cheeks… it makes a flash of something warm and dangerous swirl in Even’s belly.

“Are you sure you want to read today?” Even asks as he hands the book over, and he’s not imagining how Isak’s fingers deliberately brush against his own as he takes the book, then settles it down on Even’s own desk.

“How come I never see you outside of the library?” Isak asks, and Even’s brain short circuits a bit at the weed-induced non-sequitur..

“I’m the librarian?” He mumbles, and Isak laughs delightedly.

“I know, but like, don’t you ever go out?”

“Not really,” Even says, flustered. Isak looks really, really fucking good like this, relaxed and red-cheeked. “I don’t have time to waste on that stuff. I just want to focus on my thesis.”

That, and he long ago learned not to make his mental health worse with alcohol and late nights except for on really special occasions. He doesn’t know where he’d go anyway. Out to watch Magnus crash and burn with girls in the bar the grad students favour? To the hipster poetry slams with Noora?

“Oh,” Isak says, brow furrowing exaggeratedly. “So you’re not ‘wasting your time’ dating anyone either, I take it?”

Oh, fuck.

Even can’t quite figure out the weird air quotes there, but he thinks Isak might be offended. He doesn’t think _Isak_ is wasting time by going out and having fun—he seems like the kind of guy that enjoys going out, and doesn’t find it pressuring to be ‘on’ and friendly and happy… but, wait.

Is this Isak asking if he’s single? Finally?

Even mentally hits replay, but Isak is looking at him, oddly intense.

“No,” he says quickly. “Not dating anyone.”

He’s expecting Isak to say more, but he just... doesn’t.

Instead, he makes some noises about going to find his friends and eat kebab, and Even watches him walk out of special collections feeling completely dumbfounded. 

The smell of jay lingers unpleasantly in the air.

 

-

 

5.

 

After what Even has taken to calling ‘the green day’ Isak doesn’t come by for two weeks. Even gets a lot of work done. First drafting. He can just barely muster the excitement to scrawl in the margins.

He’s not depressed. He’s just angry at himself for getting his hopes up.

“Has Isak been by lately?” Sana asks, and Even tries not to stab at his lunch too violently with his fork.

“No,” he says, aware that his hair is gross and falling in his face. He doesn’t give a fuck. Nobody sees him in special collections anyway.

He hadn’t even meant to tell Sana about Isak, but she’d dragged it out of him about a week into their weird courtship/friendship/unremarkable thing that Even probably imagined into something it wasn’t.

“How’s Yousef?” he asks, more because it’s polite than because he needs to know. He knows how Yousef is. Yousef sent their old undergrad group a lengthy email last week about some street dancers he’d seen in Turkey, and how the song reminded him of Sana. Elias had replied with several puking face emojis, and Even hadn’t replied at all.

“Good,” Sana says, with her special Yousef smile. “He agrees that you should get in touch with Isak.”

Even groans, because Yousef would be happy enough to leave Even be, like he did the whole way through undergrad, if it weren’t for his newfound love with Elias’s little sister.

The thing is, it’s not that simple. What’s he supposed to do? Email Isak and be like, _hi, dude, I thought you were hitting on me, is that not a thing anymore?_

He’s already emailed him once, to tell him that his book is back in its holding, so he _needs advance warning to recall it if you wanted to look at it again!_

The clever ploy failed, obviously, because Isak didn’t reply to the email.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says to Sana, and that’s that conversation over. He busies himself clearing his lunch tray and standing up, avoiding her sharp gaze.

When he gets back to special collections, though, Noora isn’t any better at leaving him to mope in silence.

She purses her red lips at him, then leans back in Even’s trusty chair with a long-suffering sigh.

“Did you shower today?” She asks, and it’s all Even can do to mutinously shake his head, gripping his laptop tight.

Noora shakes her head, and then leans forward.

“Isak Valtersen was here to see you,” she says, and Even’s heart skips obnoxiously. “You didn’t say _he_ was the boy you were pining after.”

Even focuses on the important part first.

“He was here? What did he say?” Then, the rest of Noora’s words register. “Wait, you know him? What did _you_ say?”

Noora smiles, and Even gets a very, very bad feeling.

“I just said I hoped his work wasn’t suffering from the sudden break he’d taken,” she says, too innocently. “Eva, on the other hand…”

Even buries his face in his hands, because Eva is nothing if not blunt.

“You let your girlfriend hang out at my desk?” he asks, hoping to avoid ever finding out what Eva said to expose his pathetic pining for Isak to the boy himself. He can picture it now—Isak putting two and two together, feeling sorry that he ever came to special collections, sorry he ever made small talk with Even—feel sorry _for_ him, the poor nerd with the crush...

“Hey,” Noora says softly, taking in the expression on Even’s face. “Even, don’t worry.”

She gathers her books from Even’s desk and straightens up his pile of papers, until it’s perfectly neat.

“If it’s any consolation,” she says, standing to leave. “He looked like a kicked puppy when he found us here instead of you.” 

Even can only gape after Noora as she walks out of the door, shiny hair bouncing behind her.

 

 -

 

+1

 

Even tells himself he’s not going to send another email, but a few days after Noora and Sana’s failed interventions, a curly-haired boy comes into special collections and requests Isak’s book.

He proceeds to sit at the long table, barely paying attention to it in favour of staring at Even and typing obnoxiously loud. Even can’t help himself—he pulls up his mail app and puts in Isak’s name, even knowing as he does that he’ll regret it later.

 _There’s a guy here reading your book,_ Even types, _and I think he wants to murder me. You didn’t draw moustaches on the cartoons or something, right?_

He presses send. As he expects, there’s no reply. Not right away, or for the next few hours until the guy leaves, returning the book to Even’s desk with a grim expression.

Even grits his teeth.

He was too obvious about his feelings for Isak, he guesses. That day, when he’d jumped to tell Isak he was single—well, maybe he was too much. Maybe his feelings were leaking everywhere, and Isak just freaked out that his friendly advances had been taken so wrongly.

Even regrets letting himself like Isak.

By the early afternoon, Even’s starting to feel really fucking stupid about everything he imagined, and he opens his mail app again before he can think any better of it.

 _I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,_ he writes. _I hope your project isn’t suffering without the book._  

He shuts the laptop at that, and buries his head in his hands, breathing for a long time before he turns back to the _Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok_ and uncaps his pen.

 

-

 

Even feels like that’s the end of it.

That night, he returns Isak’s book to the holdings, and makes his slow path back down the cool, dark corridor back to his desk. He trails his fingers along the shelves, breathing in the scent of old paper and leather, and is just arriving back at the exit when he hears the heavy door of special collections swing shut.

“We’re closing,” he calls, but when he steps back into the room, his heart catches in his throat.

Because there Isak is, standing in the doorway, a nervous expression on his face.

“Hi,” Even manages.

Isak says it back, just as quietly.

“We’re closed,” Even says again, inane as it is. But he knows Isak knows what time special collections shuts. And he knows Isak knows he knows that.

He just can’t quite believe he’s here.

“I got your email,” Isak says, and the nerves rise up in Even, an ominous churning in his gut. 

“Last time I was here,” Isak says, and Even grips onto the doorframe—because, oh, right. He’s still standing in the entrance to the holdings. Like an idiot. “You said you weren’t interested in dating anyone,” Isak continues. “Is that still true?”

_What?_

Even… must have heard that wrong.

“I didn’t say that,” Even says, shaking his head emphatically.

Isak frowns.

“You said... you didn’t want to waste your time on things like that,” Isak says, as Even searches his memories for an explanation. “Like, I asked if you would date anyone, and you said no.”

“That’s not what happened,” Even says slowly. “You asked me if I was single, and I said yes. And then you left and didn’t come back”

Isak just looks at him, seemingly perplexed.

“That’s not how I remember it,” he says, but he takes a step closer to Even, and Even bites his lip.

“No more jay for you,” he jokes, but their smiles are both hesitant.

Even still doesn’t know what he’s doing here.

“I’m sorry if I… misunderstood things,” Even says. “About what you were asking me.”

“Just… fuck.” Isak looks at his feet, seemingly frustrated. “I just wanted to know. If you liked me, or if I was like, bugging you. Or whatever.”

_What?_

“You weren’t _bugging me_ ,” Even says incredulously. And then, because this might be his only chance to say it: “I like you. I thought that was obvious.”

Maybe it hadn’t been obvious enough, because at his words Isak looks up, eyes blazing with something fierce and full of wonder.

In that moment, Even feels more drawn to Isak than he has to anyone in his life. His feet seem to propel him forward all on their own—but Isak is striding forward too, until they’re meeting in front of Even’s desk and Isak is reaching up to pull Even’s face down to his for a hungry kiss.

It’s not Even’s first kiss, but it’s the first to make him feel like this.

Isak fists his hand in Even’s hair and Even tries to keep up as Isak coaxes his mouth open with his tongue, gasping against his lips.

He walks Even backwards, until Even feels the wood of the desk against his thighs, and Even sighs into it, kissing back as best as he can as Isak uses the leverage of the desk to fuse their bodies closer and closer.

It doesn’t take long before they’re hard, and Even mindlessly tugs on Isak’s shirt before Isak pulls back with a grin.

“Don’t you think we should lock the door?” he asks, and Even curses. He’s hesitant to let go, now he finally has Isak, but as he flicks the latch, he’s gratified to turn and see Isak pulling his own t-shirt over his head, throwing it unceremoniously to the ground.

Even is back at his side in an instant, and then Isak is spinning them around so that Even’s practically seated atop his desk, yanking Even’s shirt off as he kisses down his neck.

When he reaches Even’s nipples, Even has to grab onto Isak’s head to stop himself keening into the touch. Isak stands between Even’s legs, and Even pulls him in ever closer, letting his hands drift to Isak’s firm asscheeks and squeezing. Even feels himself getting harder at the proximity—but Isak, too, is tenting in his jeans, the bulge rubbing against Even for moments of delicious friction as they kiss and touch.

He can tell the moment the touching isn’t enough for Isak, as he looks down to where their cocks press together.

“Can I?”

Isak sounds breathless and Even is into it. He nods enthusiastically, lifting his hips as Isak fumbles with the button of his jeans and _pulls_ , baring Even’s hard dick as it bobs up and down with the movement.

“Fuck, yeah,” Isak murmurs.

Even doesn’t know what to say.

Even never could have imagined this. His jeans and boxers around his ankles, his bare ass on the heavy wooden desk he sits at every single day, his leaking cock brushing up against a beautiful boy's and their moans the only sound in the quiet of the library.

It feels so filthy and so intoxicating.

“Wanna finger you,” Isak says, and Even can feel himself blushing, but he nods frantically anyway. He watches Isak fumble a packet of lube from his pocket, and valiantly pretends his own voice doesn’t shake as he asks.

“You came prepared?”

“Just hoped,” Isak says, kissing him swiftly, before he pulls Even forwards. “Turn around for me?”

Together they pull the last of Even’s clothes all the way off, and Even nervously spreads his legs wide to lean over his desk, propping himself up on his elbows.

It’s not like he’s never fingered himself before, but the idea of someone else doing it—of Isak, specifically, doing it—has his breathing coming quick in anticipation.

“Fuck,” Isak says behind him, his voice almost disbelieving. “Oh fuck, you look so good.”

He presses kisses down Even’s spine, and Even only hears the crinkling of the lube packet before Isak is spreading his cheeks wide open, gently circling his rim with a slick finger.

Being fingered by Isak is a revelation.

There’s something in it about someone else’s fingers, Even thinks—probably that they can reach more easily, or that Isak is in a better position to open him up, teasingly press the pads of his fingers to Even’s prostate until he’s panting, groaning, leaking all over the expensive desk beneath him. He doesn’t give a fuck—he’s never felt wild like this before, so utterly out of control but somehow safe. It’s like falling, and knowing there’s a safety net at the bottom. It’s so exhilarating, so much, and yet—

“Fuck,” Even says. “It’s not enough.”

Isak reaches around for Even’s cock, but Even can feel Isak’s own, hot and hard against his inner thigh as he presses forward, and... fuck.

“Isak,” Even says, and Isak stills as Even cranes his neck to face him. “Do you have a condom?”

 

-

 

It’s only when Isak is lining his dick up with Even’s hole that Even starts to feel truly apprehensive. He pushes in, and Even can’t help the little yelp that escapes him at the feeling of being split open on Isak’s cock. It’s bigger than Even had expected—fatter than Even’s own, though a similar length—and it’s… hard. Like, in both senses. It’s damn difficult to take, but also— fuck, Isak is really this fucking hard over Even.

It’s a miracle, and Even doesn’t want to ruin it. He doesn’t want to admit that this is scary, in case Isak stops, so:

“Just go slow,” Even says. “Fuck.”

“Jesus, you’re so tight, Isak says, his hands gripping Even’s hips. “Are you always like this?”

And—yeah, shit, Even has no idea. He doesn’t want to admit he’s a virgin… but he also doesn’t want to do this under false pretences.

He has to trust Isak, here, doesn’t he?

“I don’t know,” Even says quietly—so quietly that he’s not sure Isak actually hears him.

“Even?”

“I haven’t done this before,” Even admits, and he feels Isak freeze behind him.

“What the fuck?” Isak murmurs. “Are you kidding me?”

Even shakes his head rather than responding, feeling the sweat trickling down from his hair into his eyes.

“It’s your first time bottoming?” Isak asks, and—no, tempting though it is, Even isn’t going to lie about it. He’s a virgin. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, right?

“First time anything,” Even grits out. The pain is subsiding a little now—and it doesn’t feel like pain, exactly, anymore. Just like working out a tense muscle, or something.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

“What the fuck,” Isak says again, but he makes no move to pull back. Even will take that.

“Should have told you,” Even says. “I’m sorry—”

“I’m not bothered about _that_ ,” Isak says. “I just—how? How are _you_ a virgin?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Isak says, and Even is glad they’re not face to face all of a sudden. “You’re so fucking… nice. And smart. And hot. God, don’t make me say it, Even.”

Even can’t help but laugh at that, letting out a shaky breath—and with that, he feels his whole body relax a bit.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I just—wanted this. A lot.”

He exhales, and Isak runs a soothing hand down his back.

“Just… over the desk?” Isak asks, his voice full of wonder. “Wow.”

“Go big or go home,” Even jokes in English, and now they both laugh, for a moment. Isak shifts the tiniest bit, his hands drifting to Even’s hips, and Even groans a little—enough to make Isak freeze again.

Suddenly, Isak’s dick inside him doesn’t feel strange anymore. Or—okay, it’s still a little strange. But a good kind of strange. The kind Even would like to explore.

“You can move,” he says, and Isak doesn’t ask him if he’s sure.

Carefully, he slides forwards until his hips are flush with Even’s ass cheeks, then pulls back again slowly. Without a word, he thrusts in once more with a sure slide that has Even’s mouth dropping open.

He moves in and out of Even, slow drags out and sharp thrusts in, and Even just takes it, relaxes into it until it’s like Isak was always meant to be a part of his body—like it’s perfectly natural to be bent over a fucking desk and take cock up his ass like he’d die without it.

 _So this is fucking_ , he thinks.

It’s so intimate, and so vital. So ridiculous.

Even loves it.

“Fuck, I really wanna make this good for you,” Isak says, and Even almost laughs, because he can’t imagine it being better than this. The slapping sound of their skin on each thrust is enough to make Even blush all over, and the way each forwards movement rubs his swollen dick against the desk… yeah. This is already better than Even could possibly have imagined.

“It’s good,” he manages.

There’s so much he hadn’t thought about before. Things that make this real, rather than just something abstract Even has fantasized about in the shower. Like the smell of Isak’s skin, and the texture of the condom, and the fact that he’s actually really fucking out of breath, his arms trembling from holding himself up against the onslaught of pleasure. Like how it isn’t all perfect—it hurt, at first, and the desk creaks worryingly under his weight as he puts more and more on his arms, tilting his hips and burying his sweaty head in the crook of his own elbow to muffle the sounds.

But when Isak hits Even’s prostate, it lights him up inside, all his nerves electrified until Even finds himself unable to help himself. He looks down at his dick to find that, with each steady push against his prostate, his cock leaks a steady trail of white, like he’s coming and coming and coming—and, like, he didn’t even know it was possible but he feels like he’s riding a continuous wave of pleasure.

It’d been mostly quiet before, but for the sound of their skin. Something about the atmosphere of the library, the thick carpet, the historied walls…

But now Even can’t help himself. He groans Isak’s name, a shock of noise shattering the peace, and Isak must look down at the mess pooling on the table, at Even’s pulsing cock, because he starts to thrust harder, desperately, bending Even as far over the desk as he can as his hips rabbit back and forth, cursing and pressing Even as far down as he can to get the best angle on his own dick.

As Even’s dick finally stops… whatever that was, Isak slows again, a shaky laugh escaping his mouth. “Fuck, you’re getting tight again... I can’t keep going much longer.”

Even’s arms are seriously shaking now, and Isak must see it, because he pulls out then, slowly, turning Even in his arms to kiss him, sloppy and uncoordinated.

Together, they sink down to their knees on the plush carpet. Even feels boneless, all of a sudden, and Isak must feel the same, because he strips off the condom and starts to pull at his dick, and Even can see the redness in his cheeks and the rise and fall of his chest.

He’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

If this were a movie, Even thinks, he’d bend down and take Isak in his mouth, finish him off with an expert tongue around the head of his cock. He’d turn over, maybe, and let Isak rut between his thighs, or he’d get Isak to roll over and press sucking kisses to his asshole.

But this isn’t a movie, and all Even can do is sit there and observe as Isak brings himself off, Even’s name like a mantra on his lips.

 

-

 

“You never told me what your thesis is on,” Even says, eventually.

They’re lying on the soft carpet of the special collections room, shirts long forgotten, their jeans in a bundle by the reading table. Even’s pretty sure he’s lying on some of his thesis notes, so he can only pray they haven’t been spoiled.

He didn’t know a human being could actually come this much.

“Biology,” Isak says, and Even startles.

“What?”

Even thinks he’s misheard him at first, but Isak is grinning shamelessly. The flush on his cheeks has finally died down, now, and he looks every bit the confident guy Even had first seen walk through the door of special collections.

Even wonders if he looks any different—but that’s not the matter at hand.

“I’m a molecular biologist,” Isak says, and Even stares a while before he manages to ask what’s going through his mind.

“What the fuck?”

“Uh... my best bro, Jonas, uses these collections,” Isak says. “He got sick of me begging him for information on you.”

Jonas. Oh, fuck, Even thinks.

Jonas the curly-haired polisci guy.... Who, wait. _That_ Jonas, who famously dated Eva way back when?

Grad school is the smallest fucking world.

“Wait,” he says, refocusing on the boy beside him. “You wanted information on me?”

“I saw you once,” Isak said. “You were walking here, and you looked really tired, and you walked into some undergrads because you were walking backwards through the door with your coffee.”

Well, Even thinks. That… could have been any number of mornings.

“I thought about this a lot,” Isak admits. “Or, like… coming in here, when other people were here, just blowing you under the desk.”

Even feels his mouth go dry.

“Am I… what you expected?” he asks. He doesn’t want to ask if the sex was what Isak expected—but now he’s had that thought… well.

Even just had sex with him. And he may never have had sex before, but now that he has? He really wants to do it again.

(And, like, fall asleep with him afterwards and buy him coffee and ramble at him about Judith Jesch, too… but that’s a whole other thing.)

Isak leans in to kiss him, then. There’s a surety in his eyes that warms Even all over, and he basks in it, arching his back a little and snuggling in close.

“You’re even better,” Isak says softly. “And—I mean. Was this—was I...?”

He seems at a loss for words, and now it’s Even’s turn to lean in for a kiss.

“It was pretty great,” Even says, with a smile. “But, uh, further research is required.”

Isak blushes now, and Even feels thrilled at the idea he could have caused it.

Isak likes him, he realises, almost like for the first time. He actually fucking likes him.

“One orgasm _is_ a small sample size,” Isak murmurs, and Even laughs with him. “But maybe we should choose another... lab for this... project.”

He looks around the reading room, and Even groans as he realizes there’s probably still come on his beautiful desk.

Even grudgingly gets to his feet, surveying the damage. That desk is going to need cleaning pretty fucking urgently... damn.

“You’re helping me clean this up,” he says, as Isak stands up next to him. Isak laughs, and Even takes him in one last time before they dress: this image of a beautiful boy, stark naked in special collections, hair damp with sex sweat.

“For you, I guess I can clean,” Isak says. “And later, we can bang in the stacks, right?”

Even lunges for him with an affronted gasp, and Isak ducks away, laughing even as his body turns towards Even’s in invitation.

They don’t get the cleanup done right away.

(In the end, Even has to rewrite his new chapter. But Isak buys him Chinese food, and they work side by side on Isak’s sofa, with Isak’s cold feet under Even’s legs, and Isak lends Even a new pen when his inevitably starts to leak.

The new chapter is better than the original, if Even does say so himself.)

 

 

 

 


	2. volume ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6 months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for newyearsirresolution on Tumblr, who requested this fic and the word "lies" for my word game meme. It may have got a little out of hand.

Isak taps his foot impatiently as the horde of students from his 11:00 lecture filter out of the room, and tries his best to look too busy for a discussion. They’re third year students, so it’s not that their ideas aren’t interesting--any other time, he’d be totally up for a discussion of last week’s lab--but Even is working in the special collections library today, and it’s the six month anniversary of the Incident, so he has some pretty big plans.

 _when am i seeing you bby_ Even had texted him that morning, his eagerness never failing to make Isak smile. Isak had spent the night before planning it all out, but it had taken a lot of resolve not to tell his boyfriend the truth.

 _don’t know yet :(_ he’d said, watching as the typing bubble popped up and then disappeared again as Even thought about how to respond. _tonight definitely though._

 _yeah?_ Even had asked, a whole rainbow of heart emojis, and Isak’s heart had flip-flopped in that way it did when Even was shy and cute.

 _get thinking about what you want me to do to you ;)_ Isak had answered, before his heart could get any more cheesy and ridiculous, because fuck, Isak is damn lucky.

And now Isak is waiting for his students to leave, and all he can think about is Even’s reply.

_Thought about that in the shower this morning. Twice._

When Isak finally makes it to special collections, he’s not surprised to find the room empty. He is, however, surprised by the handwritten sign on the desk that says _library closed, back in an hour._ It’s Even’s capslock-y script; Isak would recognize it anywhere.

 _Where are you?_ He texts Even, and Even sends back a confused emoji in reply. _At work_ , he answers, and Isak huffs in annoyance.

 _No you’re not,_ he types back, irritated at his own bad planning. _Because I’m here and it says you’re out._

He barely has time to take in the room--Even’s laptop on the main desk, his backpack still on the ground by his fancy spinning chair--before Even responds.

_Oh shit._

Isak doesn’t have time to question Even’s reply before another comes through.

 _In the stacks_ , Even types, lightning fast. _Lock the door behind you._

And Isak’s brain shuts down for a second at the implication. Because--does he mean--?

Oh shit, indeed. Isak practically sprints to the door and shuts it firmly behind him, twisting the heavy key in the lock with a satisfying click, then closes his eyes for a second as he finds himself imagining what Even is doing.

He better fucking not be cataloguing sagas again. Isak finds most things about Even sexy, but that would be a massive boner kill.

He steps into the stacks with a racing heart, shivering for a second at the cooler temperature. It’s darker in here, to preserve the books--Isak had read all about it, when he first met Even, planning the logistics of how to finally get his man. I

He’s never been in here before, though. Even has never let him.

He thinks, fleetingly, that this might be a joke. Something for Even to tease him with and be all cute and smug about later. t’s almost funny, because six months ago, Even had outright refused to even call them ‘stacks’. Told Isak over and over _no, these books are older than the university._ But when Isak rounds the corner, his eyes adjusting to the half-darkness, he sees Even, cupping himself beneath his skinny jeans, desperately hard and pink-cheeked.

Isak goes from 0 to 100 in seconds.

“Holy fuck,” he says, then closes the space between them in a few long strides. Even’s eyes barely have time to flutter open before Isak is grabbing Even’s t-shirt and pulling him forward for a kiss. Even responds with enough enthusiasm that Isak unbalances, a little--so that Even has to pull him in by the waist, keep him steady.

“What are you _doing_ back here?” Isak asks, when he finally pulls back for breath. Even looks rumpled as hell, and Isak knows it isn’t all his fault: glasses askew, hair pulled every which way, cock straining at Isak’s hip.

“Trying to take the edge off!” Even exclaims, biting his lip in what looks like embarrassment. Isak wants to kiss the emotion off his face. “I couldn’t stop thinking about your text!”

Isak grins at that, and for a moment, Even looks like he could laugh, chill out a bit--cut the sexual tension in the air right off. But then, gathering his thoughts, he says it:

“I was remembering what we did. You know. Six months ago.”

And fuck, yeah, Isak remembers it all too well. It was the hottest thing that he’s done in his whole fucking life… and it’s even hotter to hear Even talk about it, still blushing after all that they’ve done.

“I love you,” Isak says, kissing Even fast and dirty despite the sweet words. He pulls back only reluctantly as Even’s hands stray down to his ass, cupping him through the pockets of his jeans. Sometimes Even can be so unbearably sexy, and not even know he’s doing it.

“Six months,” Isak says, a thrill running through him at the memory of how lucky is. To have this. Like, fuck, he really does love Even. And he smiles, then, because he remembers: his plan.

“Maybe it’s time we tried to top that memory,” Isak says, and Even’s hands tighten, rocking Isak forwards.

“I’m not getting fucked in the stacks,” Even says, but there’s something in his face that makes Isak narrow his eyes. Isak wasn’t the one who came to hide in here with a boner, after all.

“Noora would never let me live it down,” Even continues, and Isak can’t help but laugh.

“You think she and Eva have never done it here?” He asks. “Snuck off for a bit of groping?”

Isak wrinkles his nose, then, at his own mental image. “Wait, scrap that. I don’t want to think about what they do back here.”

Even laughs, then leans back against the dusty shelf, a smile playing around his lips. His hips jut forward as he stretches out--and in that second, Isak knows that Even isn’t saying no.

“You’re really into it!” Isak says, accusingly, and Even laughs.

“Definitely not,” he says, but he’s lying through his teeth.

“Not even my fingers?” Isak asks, and Even groans. Isak could do it, too--the little packet of lube is in his wallet for a reason. He knows what Even likes.

“Or I could go between your thighs,” Isak teases. “That’s not technically fucking you, after all.”

Even pulls him in for another kiss at that, murmuring against his mouth.

“You and your technicalities.”

But Isak has him--he knows it, because Even’s hands move from his ass to his fly, unbuttoning Isak’s jeans with his long fingers.

Isak moves just as fast, working at Even’s own, but gets distracted as Even pulls him out of his boxers, pumping his cock twice with enough intent to make Isak’s balls twitch in anticipation. Isak’s underwear falls to the floor with his jeans, but he barely hears it over the panting of his own breath.

“Take your hoodie off,” Even murmurs, and Isak pulls a face. It’s really fucking cold for that.

“Are you chicken?” Even asks, and Isak narrows his eyes at the challenge, before pulling both his hoodie and shirt over his head.

Stepping back for a moment, Even carefully hangs them on the bookshelves behind him, covering some dusty books.

“Can’t damage them,” he says defensively as Isak shakes his head.

Typical Even.

“Take your shirt off, too,” Isak says, rolling his eyes. “If you’re so worried about protecting them from your comeshot.”

Even blushes at the word, which serves Isak quite nicely--Even whips off his t-shirt like he can hide it, until every inch of his pale torso is on display. His glasses slip down his nose, and nipples stiffen in the cool air; Isak can’t help leaning forward, taking one in his mouth and worrying at it with his tongue.

Even’s hands thread through his hair, pulling Isak closer, and drops his t-shirt to the floor.

Neither of them bother to pick it up.

As his mouth trails over Even’s chest, their hands work together to push down his jeans, and Isak feels an illicit thrill run through him. The only sound in the room is their breathing, the denim hitting rough carpet.

He can’t believe Even is letting him do this.

But he is. As Isak remembers the lube in his pocket, fumbling on the ground for a moment, Even turns and plants his hands on the bookcase for support, widening his stance to put his whole body on display. Isak, looking up, is hit all over again by the fact that Even, the same clumsy nerd who can talk at length about obscure Danish heroines, is so comfortable and open with being seen like this. Wants Isak enough to bare himself so completely, jumping right in to trusting Isak even when he’d never been with anybody else.

Isak stands, wrapping his arms around Even’s torso, kissing a line down the side of his neck.

For a moment, his own dick catches in the cleft of Even’s ass, and he presses forward, rubbing up and down until the head of his cock passes over Even’s rim.

The sound Even makes is fucking delicious.

“Come on,” Even says, impatient, and so Isak slicks himself up, pressing into the warm junction of Even’s thighs without warning. Even moves, then, bringing his legs together, and in one swift movement Isak presses forward, holding Even tight against the bookshelf. One hand rests on Even’s flat stomach--the other goes to Even’s leaking dick, covering Even’s own hand so that their fingers intertwine.

“Come on, Isak,” Even says again, and so Isak thrusts into the soft channel as Even steadies them--the whole shelf rattles once, and then begins to creak in time with their steady rhythm.

Isak’s dick pushes eagerly into the space behind Even’s balls, and Even groans. He loves the tease of it, Isak knows. Fucking forward into the wet fist of Isak’s hand as he struggles to get the friction he needs. And Isak is happy to tease him--loves the sounds Even makes as he gets more desperate for contact, demands more and more and--

“More,” Even says, and Isak can’t help but be surprised. Usually it takes much longer for Even to admit he needs something, but Isak supposes it’s something about today. Even has probably been thinking about this all morning.

“I need your fingers in me,” Even says bluntly, and it’s all Isak can do not to spin him around, rut against him until they both come.

Isak thought he knew about sex before he met Even. He had no idea what honest communication would do to his prowess.

“Yeah,” he says softly, and Even looks back at him with bright eyes that sparkle with amusement and happiness behind his glasses. No jokes about fucking in the stacks, now. They’re both all in--point of no return, no pulling out now.

Figuratively, anyway.

So Isak coats his fingers with a little more of the lube, and circles Even’s hole to test the waters. Even keens beneath his ministrations, but when Isak gives him the first finger, it slips in easier than he’d imagined. Isak’s own cheeks go hot at the thought of it--Even coming in here, preparing himself for later that night, getting carried away as he took the edge off.

“Fucking hell, Even,” Isak gripes, because this boy is really going to be the death of him. He grips the base of his own dick tight, yanking firmly on his balls to stave off the edge that looms dangerously close. He tries to focus only on his fingers--on taking Even apart bit by beautiful bit.

Even goes absolutely wild for this. Ever since that first time, Isak teasing his prostate with a ton of false bravado and an equal amount of disbelief, Isak has loved this. Watching how Even takes this like nobody else Isak has ever been with, like his prostate was made just for Isak to give him pleasure.

Isak doesn’t mind bottoming, but he’s never felt the sheer bliss that falls over Even when he has something in his ass.

Watching Even get off is the hottest thing Isak has ever seen.

Today, he thinks, the sight is something Isak could look at forever and not get tired--Even pushing back against his fingers, insistent and warm--but Isak can’t help it. He’s desperate to press forward again, to hold Even against the shelves and get his dick in there. He needs to come inside Even just like that day six months ago, how it all began.

“Even,” he starts to say, and he doesn’t know how to finish it. Please let me fuck you, just for a moment, just the tip--he knows how close Even is, knows he might not even want to slow down and let Isak in--but he shakes with the desire of it, the image of fucking Even deep and good like it’s the very first time.

“You can,” Even pants, holding himself still for a second. His hand isn’t moving on his dick, Isak realizes, but gripping it hard, like he’s trying not to blow it here and now.

He turns a little, facing Isak, and Isak greedily drinks in the sight of him, hard and pink and drop dead fucking gorgeous. For a moment, he wishes Even were shorter--enough to pin him up against the stacks and bounce him on Isak’s cock like a terrible porn video.

But Even isn’t, and Isak doesn’t. Instead, Even turns around, fumbling for a condom in his own wallet on the ground and then kneeling before Isak. Isak takes a deep breath as Even rolls it onto Isak’s cock, then pulls Even up for a slow kiss until the desire threatens to engulf him.

Even pulls back from the kiss with a lingering pop, then smiles as Isak goes back in for one last, soft peck.

“Now fuck me,” Even says. “Before I finish myself off.”

Isak doesn’t need asking twice.

Even turns again, and Isak slips two fingers inside of him for just a moment before he’s replacing them with his dick, sinking into the tight heat of Even with a couple of gentle thrusts. He’s barely stilled for a second when Even protests, pushing his ass back with a groan that has Isak’s hips pressing forward in answer.

Some other day, Isak might let Even fuck himself on his cock. Today he wants to show Even his best.

He snaps his hips, dragging his cock out slowly then slamming back in in the long, deep strokes that he thinks Even likes best; it’s an effort to slow himself down, but the maddening pace of it has both him and Even desperate in no time at all, making tiny little sounds at each thrust that seem impossibly loud in the quiet of the stacks. The bookshelf shakes, but Even holds on, and Isak presses tighter until he can feel Even’s sweat on his own skin, feel the warmth of Even’s body like it’s his own.

Isak wants to stay like this forever, but nobody would survive an eternity of this much pleasure.

He slams in harder at the thought, and Even curses, hand stroking himself hard, now, but Isak forces himself to pull back--slow down, savour this moment.

“Fuck you,” Even says--and that’s part of it. That Isak gets to do this with someone so ridiculous and hot and full of love. Isak laughs, somehow, because apparently the moment is over, and apparently he’s denied Even for long enough.

He speeds up, now, uncoordinated in his own frenzy, punching rhythmic ah-ah-ah sounds out of Even that can only mean he’s close.

And Isak can’t help it anymore. He comes, spilling into the condom deep inside Even, desperately moving his hips as he surges forward one last time, trying to get Even there before he gets too sensitive to help.

Even cries out, body stiffening as his own orgasm hits him--and then his knees tremble and he falls back, Isak slipping out of him as they tumble to the floor with a heavy crash that has them both looking at each other in silent panic--naked, dirty, and shocked.

They look up at the bookshelf. It wobbles. And then:

A single book launches itself from the shelf, falling to the ground with a muted thud.

Even looks at Isak, eyes wide, and then picks it up carefully with the hand not covered in come.

It’s fine, surprisingly. Intact, unharmed, unsoiled.

Even carefully sets it back down on the ground, and starts to laugh, pulling his glasses off to wipe at the tears that spring to the corner of his eyes. The sound fills the entire room, booming and hysterical and relieved.

And Isak is in love.

His entire face lights up with it, shining and beautiful as he meets Isak’s gaze, pulling him closer as Isak starts to laugh along with him. It’s infectious--Isak can’t help it, can’t stop himself from grinning right back at this ridiculous person who has chosen to keep him.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” he says, reaching out to help him put glasses back in place. He settles them on the bridge of Even’s nose with care, watching Even’s eyes track the movement.

“I love you too,” Even replies, sweet and soft. “But we’re never doing this here again.”


End file.
